After my initial assessment, I was given back one of the AR-15's I had handed over before we left. It was kind of insulting actually. John beamed at me like a parent at their kid's graduation, when the sergeant deemed me fit for duty; or at least fit to carry a handgun.

Roy had elected to stay behind, not caring if he had a gun or not, while John and I had ridden out in one of the trucks to the location they were using as a firing range. It was a good distance away to keep the noise far from Hargrove; the way there was close to two hours by itself. I couldn't help but think of all the gas they were burning just to transport people there and back, but I guess that was the price you paid to play it safe.

"You have the basics down, but can you still shoot with a bigger gun?" Sergeant Grant asked as he stuffed the automatic weapon in my arms.

Were all military men this pushy? John wasn't, but then again, he had been out of service for a while before all this. I would have taken it personal except Grant was like that to everyone. The poor teen boy from yesterday who had been teased was back, trying to redeem himself and the sergeant was giving him no quarter. I swear he looked close to tears after another round of Grant shouting instructions at him.

I adjusted the sights and jammed the butt of the gun against the spot where my shoulder met my torso. With a deep breath, I let out a burst of bullets. I only managed to hit the small target twice; I was not accurate with this weapon unless I had a surface to hold it on.

"Thought you said you could use this weapon." I could feel the steely gaze of the Sergeant Grant burning into the back of my head.

I wanted nothing more to throw the gun down and tell Sergeant Asshole to go fuck himself, but instead I gritted my teeth and kept at it. As I kept shooting, it seemed like the target was getting further and further away while the gun became heavier. Once the gun clicked empty, I still had only managed to hit the target a handful of times.

I lowered the gun and stretched out my now sore shoulder. John walked over to me, and then whispered beside me.

"You need to hit the target at least fifteen times to be allowed to use it."

"Well I passed the handgun test, so I really don't care," I lied.

Sergeant Grant joined us and I handed the AR-15 into his outstretched hand.

"You're clear to use any handgun, but you're not allowed to use an assault weapon," he stated. "If you want to keep tryin', you can join us again next week for another go."

I hated being told what I can and can't do, "Fine, then give me back my guns and ammo."

Grant stared me down, with a slightly condescending smirk on his face, "Fine, then you can leave our community."

I was about to tell him to shove his community up his ass when John stepped in.

"Bailey, it's fine. You can take the course again next week and I'm sure you'll pass with flyin' colors." John shot me a look telling me to shut up.

Grant just grunted and walked away with the weapons I had given them.

"That guy is a dick!" I hissed.

John let out a laugh, "He ain't the friendliest of the bunch, but he's got military trainin' and survival skills that these people need. I think some of the population hasn't left the gates since Wyatt started the place."

That was exactly what I had thought.

"You really think this place is on the up-and-up?" I asked, my gaze holding his.

When he hesitated I knew there was something wrong.

"Now if I tell you, you have to swear you won't go do somethin' stupid," John demanded.

"Me? Never," I waved it off.

"I'm serious, Bailey."

"Alright, but the longer you're taking to tell me, the worse I'm going to think it is." I tapped my foot for emphasis.

"There was a murder a week and a half ago in Hargrove."

"I'm sorry, but a what?" was all I could respond with.

"A woman was killed in a pretty gory way; pieces were missin' from her corpse. We woke up early one morning to find her in the middle of the street."

"How do you know it was a murder and not an infected?"

"Well for one, there was no sign of an infected on the entire block and the body didn't have teeth marks or look chewed on. It was cut real clean with a blade, just in a savage manner," he paused before the next part, almost like he was stalling. "Some people suspect Darren."

My brows shot up.

"What? That's crazy! I admit at first I was leery of him, but don't you think he would have done something while we shared a cabin for almost four months?" I said, astonished.

"That's what we said, but there was some circumstantial evidence."

"But no definitive proof?" I threw my hands in the air. "This is ridiculous, people are so stupid sometimes."

"Scared people are notorious for bein' stupid," John said.

"What kind of circumstantial evidence?"

"Well he was arguin' with victim, Clare, the night before about not being able to carry a weapon. She used to help out Grant before I did and she wasn't goin' to let Darren have his guns until he passed the trainin' just like everybody else. He was pretty pissed."

"So? I'm pissed about it; does that make me a suspect?"

John gave me a look, "Be serious Bailey. I understand you're upset. We all were when Wyatt all but accused Darren, but we need to keep a level head."

"Did they find Darren red handed in the library with a candlestick?"

"I really don't think this is a jokin' matter."

"Sorry, I'm just kind of shocked," I apologized. The joke was in bad taste; after all someone was dead and a possible murderer was running around Hargrove in plain clothes.

"No murder weapon was found, nor a blood trail. They searched all the condos after and came up with nothin'."

"How is that possible?"

"Dunno, that's the kind of thing we had police for."

"You said she worked with the Sergeant before you, did they get along?"

"I really don't know. We hadn't been here long enough at that point to tell. Why?"

"Well, aren't murders usually committed by someone close to the deceased?"

"You're just sayin' that 'cause you don't like the Sergeant," John pointed out.

"Perhaps, but I remember being taught that in my criminology class. Plus it's common knowledge."

John seemed to think on it, "I do remember him tellin' me he used to be a field medic, so he'd know how to cut open a body."

"That's good to know," I nodded. "Still, it sounds kind of like a cover-up. There had to be some evidence like bloody clothes and I don't know, the missing body parts."

John let out a deep breath, "I might've felt the same at the time, but nothin' has happened since and no one started actin' odd after."

"Did they search Wyatt's place? Or his goon's place?" I asked.

"You remember me tellin' you to not go and do somethin' stupid, right?" John stared me down, knowing exactly where my thoughts were heading.

The Sergeant and Wyatt were the authority around here. While they were keeping everyone else in line, who was going to keep them in check?

"Alright, we're headin' back. Everybody meet back at the vehicles," the Sergeant's voice boomed almost as loud as the gunfire had been.

John pointed his index finger at me, "We'll be finishin' this conversation later."

I nodded in response as we jogged over to catch our ride back. John and I got into one of the trucks and to my dismay, Sergeant Grant got into the driver's seat up front with John. The teen boy who had been trying his luck again, wore a similar face to mine when he saw the Grant in the driver's seat.

"Bad luck, huh?" I whispered to him.

He just nodded grimly. Just when I thought we were finally going to head back, another person opened the door.

"Got room for one more?" It was Sheri.

This was going to be one awful ride back. I had assumed she would ride back in the other truck like she did on the way here. The teen boy shuffled over to the middle, his arm flush against mine now. Sheri jumped in with a smile.

"Thanks."

The walkie-talkie on the dashboard crackled, "We're ready to go on our end."

"Alright, let's head back," Grant barked into the receiver.

"Bailey, right?" Sheri asked me over the teen in the middle.

"Yep," was my reply.

John turned to the back seat, a grin on his face.

"You're pretty good with that handgun," Sheri kept at it despite my less than friendly demeanor.

She hadn't done too badly out there either.

"Thanks to John here," I pointed to the eavesdropper in question.

"He's tried to teach me too, but you must have some natural talent," she added.

I wasn't sure what she was getting at. Trying to butter me up and wedge her way into our group? Trying to steal Ethan? Yet again, I felt like I was suddenly transported back to high school.

"Once you have as much practice as Bailey, you'll be doin' much better," John said. "You too, Mark."

The teen boy in the middle nodded at John's words, finally being included in the conversation.

"Hmm," Sergeant Grant mumbled from the front seat as the truck came to a halt.

John turned back around in his seat, "What's goin' on?"

"People on the road."

We all leaned over so we could see out the windshield. There were two people standing in the middle of the road. One had their arm draped over the other's shoulder and was obviously injured.

Grant got out of the truck and John followed.

"Are we supposed to just sit here?" Mark asked.

"Like hell I am," I said, getting out of the truck.

As I approached them, I could hear the man pleading for Grant to take them with us. The injured one was a female, each of her breaths raspy like her lungs were filled with fluid.

"My sister's sick, she needs help!" the man all but begged.

"We ain't takin' no sick person back with us," Grant said harshly.

"You might be able to help her!"

"There's no help for those who are bitten 'cept a bullet to the head."

Way to sugarcoat it.

"Was she attacked by an infected?" I asked.

Grant sent me a harsh glare, clearly preferring that I would have stayed in the truck.

The man nodded, jostling his sister in the process. She let out a moan and gripped her side.

"How long ago?"

"'Bout an hour, maybe," he answered in a rush.

"Let's lay her down so we can see how bad it is," John instructed, as he walked over to the man and grabbed the girl's other arm.

Together they lowered her to the ground, her rattily breaths increasing in tempo. The brother slowly lifted up her blood soaked shirt to reveal an angry bite mark. It was still bleeding pretty badly for an hour old wound. I was no doctor, but I had a feeling she wasn't going to last long.

The Sergeant must have thought the same because he said, "She ain't comin' back with us."

"Please!"

"We can't just leave 'em out here to die," John said to Grant.

"You wanna be responsible for her turnin' and bittin' others?"

"I sure as hell don't want to be responsible for leavin' these two to die," John shot back.

"They can ride in the back of the truck," I suggested. "It'll be pretty bumpy though."

We all looked at Grant for his final verdict. I didn't think bringing a time-bomb back to Hargrove was a good idea, but chances are she wouldn't survive the trip there.

"No."

I clenched my teeth, "They can't do any harm hitching a ride in the back."

"Listen here, missy," Grant loomed over me, "I make the calls here and they ain't comin' back with us."

John got up and led us out of ear shot of the siblings.

"She ain't gonna survive the trip, we might as well let 'em ride in the back," John said.

I was reminded of Ethan right now, with his stray-taking-in ways.

"What are we gunna do when she turns and tries to kill her brother? Then we got two of 'em riddin' along with us."

"Well, all the guns and ammo from training sure won't be of any use to us," I said, my voice full of sarcasm.

Grant shot me a narrow eyed look. John stuck up his palm to me, silently telling me to keep my two-cents out of it.

"Grant, I trust your judgement, but not on this. I can't in all good conscience leave 'em here to die," John said firmly.

Grant crossed his arms and appeared to think about it.

"Fine, John. But they're your wards, not mine." The Sergeant stormed back to the truck.

"John," I put my hand on his shoulder, "I really don't like that guy."

John nodded, "Never said I did, just that he has his place for a reason."

We walked back over to the siblings. The brother had his sister's hand in his, while she went through another fit of coughing. Blood ran from the edges of her mouth, sprinkling the pavement. John kneeled down.

"What are your names?"

"Colt," the brother said. "And this is Cassandra."

"I'm John and this is Bailey."

I waved slightly, as if he wouldn't know who John was referring to.

"We're gonna let you come with us, but for our safety we can't allow your sister inside the cabin of the truck."

Colt nodded, "Thank you."

Together Colt and John hoisted Cassandra back to her feet, and this time there was no reaction from her. I could tell she was still alive from the faint rising and falling of her chest, but she wouldn't be for long. Once they loaded her into the back of the truck, Colt hopped in beside her.

"Son, I would highly recommend against ridin' with her back there," John said.

"Would you leave your family to die by themselves?" Colt said back, more sad than angry. "I know there's no help for her now, but the least I can do is stay by her side."

John nodded, understanding Colt's words more than Colt knew.

"Just knock on the back window if you need us to stop."

John and I got back in and Grant floored it, jarring the two in the back. Asshole of the year this guy.